


Let Me Hold Your Hand

by Domive



Series: Let Me Hold Your Hand [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bridget Jones may or may not be involved, Calm Before The Storm, Caring Stiles, Confrontations, Dancing, Domesticity, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional ride, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Full-on fluff, Good times too, Guilty Stiles, I no longer know what I'm doing, I'm so sorry, Nogitsune, Nogitsune talk, Nurturing Times, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pie-Making and flour porn, Post-Nogitsune, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Pulp Fiction References, RIP Allison Argent, Sexual Frustration, Sexual Tension, Shameless Pushing Daisies references, Slow Burn, Slow Dancing, Star Wars References, Stiles and Lydia are about to open the bucket of lies and secrets, This has gone out of my hands, What season 5 should've looked like after Lie Ability, hand-holding, i suck, resentful lydia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-05-22 20:12:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6092647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Domive/pseuds/Domive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts after the events of Lie Ability, right after the library discussion in A Credible Threat and then goes its own way. Stiles decides it's time for Lydia and him to finally talk. About the nogitsune, and Eichen House. About everything. If they're doing this, if they're healing together, they will do it right. Whatever 'this' is. It's a slow burn kind of thing, a measured step by step journey back to 'okay' and then... madness ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. At the library

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!  
> I am not entirely sure what I'm doing but here it is; my first fanfic. Pardon my spelling mistakes; I'm Spanish and they'll abound.  
> It's been a long time since I've wanted to stop just reading these (and sometimes what I read here is waaaaay better than what I get in the show, especially with Teen Wolf) and start writing them and since in A Credible Threat Jeff decided to fuck us over once more and forget everything that happened in the previous episode... well, this came out. It will be a multi-chapter story. I have a rather wild and aproximated idea of what I want to do, but I'll see what happens. In the meantime; enjoy and leave kudos/comments if you liked it, I really want to know what you think :)

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in.

Stiles is pacing manically around his living room, sweating more than he would like to admit, trying to convince himself that everything is fine. That this isn’t more than what it is. A friend being there for another friend. Nervous. And sweaty.

This seemed like such a great idea earlier that day, but now… Now he’s anxious.

He recalls when it happened; this morning at the library. 

They were planning on calling out the game and suddenly, they were alone… 

_Scott and Liam have run out the door to get to Coach in time and Lydia and Stiles find themselves left behind. It is odd, to have a moment of quietness when everything has been rush and noise in the past few days. He feels jittery and strangely at ease at the same time. Lydia is looking at a Beacon Hills map, trying to figure out a way to gain advantage over The Beast, and as he glances at her, he knows his time is running up. He knows he should stop staring, that he might get caught, but somehow, he doesn’t care._

_He stares at her factions, her frowning increasing as she thinks harder. Her eyes. Her hair. Her hands, trailing the pieces of paper. He has a sudden wave of tenderness when he sees her, up for a battle again, mere days after the ordeal she went through. And suddenly, she’s touching her. He doesn’t want to scare her, so he doesn’t caress her hand (holding her hand is something that he’s recently realized makes him feel good, nothing overtly romantic, just a steady anchor to hold on to, so he knows that she’s okay, and he’s okay, and the world is okay). So instead, he goes for the arm. Just a gentle nudge, enough to catch her attention. Lydia looks up and stares at him, surprised. He does the same for a second too long, a honey-warm fraction of a second._

_-Hey – He almost whispers, sweetly starting to caress her arm._

_-Hey – She answers. She looks tense for a second. A consequence of days on edge, waiting to jump and run for her life. And then she loosens up a bit and remembers; this is Stiles._

_-How are you holding up? – They are somehow closer now, even though none of them has moved and inch. A change in the atmosphere of the room. A ‘let’s talk, you and me’ trust filling the air between them._

_-I’ve been worse – She has risen the shield, but she hasn’t looked away._

_-I can tell – He says as his hand trails all the way up to her neck, her skull, and then the place where a hole was being drilled days before – Any more headaches?_

_She winces a little but doesn’t brush his hand away. He takes it as a good sign._

_-No. All sunshine and rainbows – He can’t tell if she’s fucking with him but he laughs anyway, a gentle smile grazing his lips, a shameful lovey-dovey smirk filling him all the way up to his eyes, disguised with an almost-not-there exasperated sigh._

_-Come on, Lydia. This is me. I’ve had my fair share of crazy. You can talk to me. I’ll understand – He argues, looking straight to her eyes, but not daring to get closer._

_-Will you? – She blurts, a little big harsher than she intended. He looks a little hurt for a second. – I’m sorry – She apologizes – I’m just not ready yet to talk about it._

_-That’s okay – he says. He’s now sitting Indian-style and starts holding her hands between his. She looks down where they’re united and he begins to trail a ghostly finger over the lines of her palm, stopping when he reaches the wrist, then going all the way back to her fingertips. He can tell she’s a little bit nervous, but he can’t tell why. – But that doesn’t mean I can’t be there for you._

_It takes all of his courage to look up after saying that. Because he has tried hard as hell not to think about the timeline but here he is and the clock is ticking. 4 weeks. Today is 4 weeks since Malia and him talked in a car back when the pack was in shambles and he looked at her dumbfounded when he realized she knew about his accident with Donovan but hadn’t said a thing. He still wonders why he was so shaken by the fact that she was ‘okay’ with it. He wasn’t looking for punishment –not openly– but negating the weight of it was kind of like saying it hadn’t happened. Or that it didn’t matter. Or that it wasn’t important. And it was important, another scratch at his fluttering heart after all that went down with the Nogitsune._

_And he doesn’t want to think about that, but he knows there’s some kind of conversation to be had with Lydia about it. And if she shows him her wounds maybe he’ll feel safe enough to show her his. And maybe he’ll be able to admit to himself (and her) that he had been counting the days until speaking with Lydia felt appropriate after the break-up, an invisible calendar hanging over his head._

_-You’re here now – She answers, shaking him off of his absorption. She’s still staring at their hands, almost looking shy. But they both know she’s just hiding. The conversation hits a pause after that. The seconds keep on going and Stiles gets more eager. In another world he’d brush it off, enjoy the moment and wait for the next chance to get this right. But their world is far from ideal._

_-Today. After class – He blurts out suddenly._

_-What? – She is looking at him now, completely lost._

_-Today. You. Me. –He feels light-headed just saying it out loud– At my house. Movie night. You can’t say no. – He’s rushing and too excited and he knows he’s two seconds away from stammering so he really hopes it came out as ‘decided’ instead of ‘plain nervous’._

_-Stiles, I’m not sure…_

_[I need you. Please open up to me and save me. I’m terrified of this too, but I’m willing to make it right if it is with you. Always with you.]_

_-We can watch a chick flick if you want to…_

_She looks at him –really looks at him–, eyes slightly wide, a tiny piece of child-like joy reaching her cheeks. – No Star Wars?_

_-Well, I mean, it’s not a chick flick, but it did change the history of American cinema, no big deal…_

_-No Star Wars – She cuts him off._

_-No Star Wars – He concedes._

_She smiles at him. She shyly but genuinely smiles at him and it’s only then that he realizes he’d been holding out a breath [The Last time I held my breath… Why did I last held my breath?], an unstoppable matching-smile making his eyes sparkle._

_After that, the day flies by like an aerostatic balloon, a warm ball of fire ticking his stomach and burning the seconds down._

Now he’s back at his house, pop-corn ready and movie set and the adrenaline rush is gone. Minutes away from ‘it’ (whatever this is going to be) and he’s terrified for life. He thinks of the irony of it. They face monsters and demons and he still shakes at the thought of a friend-date. The idea makes him chuckle.

The door-bell rings, interrupting his thoughts and he knows the time is up.


	2. We Need To Talk About Donovan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Lydia are about to begin a stroll down memory lane... Feelings may be involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the hits and kudos, they've made me really happy :)  
> I've been struggling to write this episode because I didn't want it to be bland and random, but have some meaning, or look like something that could only be mine, but there are so many amazing fics covering similar territory that it's hard to make something special and different. Also; time. In the end I both think it can be a masterpiece or a messy disaster, so you pick. And... it's longer.  
> If you like it, or have any thoughts about it, don't hesitate to leave a comment.  
> Finally; Who else is nervous about tonight? I swear if no Stydia happens or we get Stalia/Marrish down our throats...  
> Enjoy! :)

**Ding-Dong!**

Lydia is standing sweaty-handed at Stiles’ front door, the memories of this morning still swirling around in her mind.

The dirty-golden light coming from the large library windows, bathing the room full of shelves in an almost unreal glow, the after-rain flavor still in the air, that refreshing feeling right after a storm. The specks of dust dancing around, tainting the room. The world had come to an end just hours before, and Stiles and her were lucky survivors in a strange paradise filled with books and corny vaults, an odd after-life hideaway of their own. Just theirs.

**Ding-Dong!**

Stiles is not answering. Maybe this has been a bad idea. A very, very bad one. Feelings have been kept between them for years, and apart from unspeakable pain and horrid consequences, they have been just fine. Why would he want to blow that up by actually talking? Although… sometimes, the way he looked at her? She thought; _Maybe I could actually talk to him, stop brushing him off. Become a real person again…_

More memories of this morning are coming back to her: his honey-brown eyes melting as he strived to navigate the dark forest that led to her own personal fortress, the way he stopped talking here and there to just caress her hand, trailing over her skin in tender fashion, like he had suddenly forgotten his mission. She knows that he wanted her to talk, to open up to him, but Stiles sometimes lost track of that and just appreciated her presence. It had been such a long time since she had had that. Someone appreciating her. After days of being abused, man-handled and conveniently tossed like some piece of garbage, she craved for someone who just looked at her –just her, no banshee crap– and smiled. And he did, this morning. With his messy hair, his plaid t-shirt and his rosy cheeks. He whiplashed his head up and asked her, filled with child-like hope, to watch a movie. Just _hang_. Such an odd word in her world. And in that moment, an even crazier thought crossed her mind, right as he looked at her, mere inches from her face. _Now kiss me!_ It left her absolutely dumbfounded. Why would she want that? Right as the thought crossed her mind, she had an electrifying sensation, a tingling at the tips of her fingers, the feeling you get when you are thinking of doing something you shouldn’t, a sensation she has had more and more often since she has realized how arbitrary and doomed her life can be. And the thing is, in that moment, it was nice, to think that way. Also dangerous, but in a refreshing way. All the trauma from the previous days suddenly translated itself in the form of an epiphany; she wanted to be reckless with him, he made her feel that way, not that she was or is ready to tell him that just yet. But why play it safe when you could die at any moment?

The sound of steps approaches the door, which suddenly swings open, and Lydia is greeted with a very shaky version of her friend enthusiastically scratching his head, a wave of warmth flooding over her as she stares at his radiant smile. And suddenly he is winking at her as he goes:

“Hello, gorgeous…”

_What a lovely way to burn._

 

* * *

 

“ _So… I thought we could go for a classic. Drum-roll please…_ ”

They have entered the house and moved their way to the living room, where Stiles is making a big deal of announcing the film he’s chosen.

He raises his eyebrows at her, waiting, and she realizes he actually wants her to make the sound. She taps her two fingers dramatically over the kitchen counter and goes ‘ _trtrtrtrtrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr_ ’.

“Bridget Jones’s Diary!” He exclaims as he shifts the laptop screen, the frozen image of Zellweger in a Christmas-red pajama greeting her.

“I didn’t think you actually knew that movie” She teases.

“Hey! I’m a romantic at heart. And she speaks to me, in an eternal-spinster kind of way.”  


"Stiles, you haven’t been a spinster in a long time, it’s not that bad to admit that you love a girlie movie.”  


“Wow… Well, where did all those knives came from? First, it’s sexist to say Bridget Jones’s Diary is just ‘girlie’; it’s a classic. Second, I wouldn’t say ‘love’ as in ‘love, _love_ ’, plenty of diary shenanigans but no space-ships saving the galaxy, so… And I am very much single, so yeah, I can call myself a spinster and cover myself with self-loathing as I re-watch early 2000s comedies.”  


Stiles has been walking towards the couch as he elaborated his speech, so he turns suddenly when he realizes she hasn’t followed him. Lydia is right where he left her, a puzzled look in her face, like he has said something that doesn’t make sense.  


“What?”  


“You’re single.” She half-enunciates, half-questions. He suddenly realizes the implications of what he just said. _FuckfuckfuckfuckFUCKFUCKFUCK_. He didn’t want her to know that yet. “I thought you and Malia were… you know… doing your thing.”  


“Ahh… yeah, well, with so much happening it was hard to keep… (how to call it?), _the thing_ going on.” He says that last part almost as a question (because he has no idea how to call what they had had) and it makes him blush furiously.  
Lydia can’t help a small chuckle escaping her lips at the odd naming. She disguises it with a small knowing smile and tries to act casual. She tries to play ‘helpful friend’ and sighs.  


“I get it. And I know the pack has had a rough ride lately, but maybe you can try and reconnect now?” She inquires. _Why am I trying to help? Why the fuck would I help him get back with Malia to that weird teacher-student mess they had going?_

“Um… well, yeah, things are better now but that doesn’t mean they are ‘Okay’. Not exactly a lot of free time to play ‘daytime date’, Lyds. With the whole ‘Savior of the Day’ thing, remember?” He tries, attempting to lighten the mood.

Lydia rolls her eyes. He’s been lamely remembering his heroic intrusion in Eichen House with dorky phrasings such as that one. But Lydia is not one to back away from a dare, not even when she’s not exactly standing in solid ground.  


“You’re here with me, now…” _Don’t put yourself on the line, do not put yourself on the line._  


“Yeah, but you’re different” He inadvertently responds.

Lydia tenses at that, Stiles freezes, the room seems stuck in time, the clock hand not attempting to move forward, but not allowed to go back.  
Stiles tries to elaborate.  


“I mean… you know, it wasn’t bad with her. It was nice, actually, sometimes,” he doesn’t seem very sure of himself, “But I realized with time that we were maybe too different. And I don’t know what kind of relationship she was looking for but we barely really talked, “she grimaces at the thought of what they _did_ do, “about anything ( _thank god that had not been the end of the sentence_ ) actually, a part from monsters and homework, and in the end I don’t think we really had that much in common, we didn’t have as much in common…  


“Oh…”  


“…As you and I do.” He finishes.  


“OH…” She repeats, stupidly taken off-guard. That one’s new. That one she did not expect. He’s talking about them, he’s staring right at her eyes and she’s staring right back, terrified. Is this a moment? Are they having a moment? She wants to say something but she honestly can’t think of what. The little shit can really leave her speechless… The cute, charming, sarcastic to a fault Stiles Stilinski has chosen this moment to be the one who finally gets serious and she is frozen.  


And then it’s gone.  


Stiles loses the self-confidence and sinks his stare in the floor. He looks sad, somehow. Like he has just been rejected or he’s heard some bad news he already saw coming. He immediately goes back to the habit of awkwardly scratching his neck.  


And then it happens.  


A wince. Small, and quickly hidden, and barely there. But _there_ , nonetheless. She remembers that time when they needed to go back to Eichen to learn more about the Dread Doctors and he did the same thing.  


Wince. Hide. Lie. _Repeat._  


She’s about to ask when he turns on his heels and heads towards the couch for good.  


“We should get started,” he mutters “the popcorn is getting cold.”  


She decides to drop it for now and joins him for a bound-to-be awkward movie time.

 

* * *

 

They’ve been watching Bridget Jones’s Diary for 45 minutes, under a blanket that Stiles had prepared. They started a foot away and have been getting closer every quarter of hour that goes by. 15 and they’re next to each other. 30 and they’re touching. 45 and she’s leaning over him, absentmindedly chewing on popcorn. They’ve gone from uncomfortably silent to acceptably relaxed, so she regrets saying anything when she grabs for more popcorn and her hand meets the naked surface of the bowl, salty-fingered and eager-eyed.  


“Let me grab some more” He says as he quickly jumps off the couch, leaving her somehow empty.  


“No, let me do it. You’ve done too much already setting this up”  


“Ah, ha. No way. You stay right there and you rest”  


“It’s all I’ve been doing for the last weeks, remember?” But it’s to no avail because he’s already setting the microwave. He comes back some five minutes later with the bowl refilled and sits right back at the sofa, handing it to her. There’s an oddly comfortable silence between them as they suit themselves and none of them brings the movie up.  


Lydia is thinking. She’s been thinking those five spare minutes, what to say. Because, obviously, he’s trying not to enter muddy waters and there’s no way he gets her to open up while he stays closed like an oyster with a pearl. _Nice metaphor._

“Why don’t you ask already?” He suddenly says, interrupting her thoughts.  


“What?” She responds, both going back to there and then and wondering what he meant.  


“What you’ve been meaning to ask for almost an hour”  


She tries to start an ‘I don’t know what you mean’ escaping trip, but she sees there’s no point. Besides, isn’t this what she was trying to get? A chance to talk?  


“What did you mean, before, when you said you and I had more in common?” She finally gives in.  


He looks at her in surprise. Wrong question. That was not what he had in mind. _Shit._  


“Uhm, well, you know…”  


“No, I don’t”  


“Right,” he realizes, looking down at their shared eating space “Well, I don’t want to be mean, and Malia has been doing great considering...” he moves his hands around “everything.”  


“Uncomprehensibly great,” she argues “ _against the laws of nature and logic_ great” She adds. He looks up again. She’s freaking him out. She needs to tone it down. She shuts her lips closed in a ‘sorry’ sign. He goes on.  


“But sometimes I couldn’t help but hope that we were not a little bit more… In sync.” He concedes “I’m not saying that she’s dumb, she’s pretty intuitive,” Lydia screams internally, she doesn’t exactly need to know that much “but I missed the old detective-duo days… with you. I mean, what he had…” he stops, realigns his speech “when we investigated, it was pretty cool. I’ve been thinking of going after the steps of my father for a while now and those sessions where scary, of course, because we were kind of running for our lives, but they were exciting. Energizing even.”  


She’s stopped eating, Stiles articulating his thoughts in slow-pace fashion is a rare sight to the eyes. Too rare to miss it.  


“And you get my humor and you know what it is like,” he looks at her again, his hands a tiny bit closer to hers (here we go with the ever-pulling red string) “to be the only one not to have huge claws, or to feel powerless against the bad guys.” He stops for a second, and has that look on his face. She knows. He’s considering to release a secret, to let it scape. His voice is a little bit weaker when he speaks again. “You know what it is to want to fight back, but also what you can do and what you can’t. You’re human, like me, and you know that there are… lines not to be crossed. She just seemed so out of touch with her human part sometimes, and I needed that… intimacy”.  


She’s so shocked about his brutal honesty, a river flood of kept feelings and fears, that she almost misses the hint. Of course Stiles was not going to just tell her what had happened, he was going to leave the bread crumbs to see if she was smart enough to pick them. Now she knows what question he was expecting earlier.  


“Does this mean you’re going to tell me what happened with your shoulder?”  


He looks at her, shocked, knowingly but terrified. A second goes by and he looks down, releasing a sigh. _This_ was the question he was expecting –and fearing–. “Uhmm…” He wiggles a little to get more comfortable and the stinging pain comes back. He grabs his hurt shoulder with one hand, the other one a tight fist in the couch. He looks ashamed, she feels terrible.  


It’s then when she knows that the truth is finally coming, so she moves her hand forward and grabs his fist, a pained look on her face, and she waits. He doesn’t move, but he slowly unwinds.  


“I killed Donovan” He says. It’s low but without hesitation. A tear comes rolling down his cheek.  


She gasps a little but doesn’t pull back. She knows there must be an explanation, so she holds her breath. He looks up in fear, like he’s asking for her permission to explain himself. She assumes it didn’t go well the last time he tried.  


“What happened?” She asks, calmly.  


“I didn’t knew… I just, I just didn’t knew” He rambles.  


“What? What didn’t you know, Stiles? You can tell me” She encourages. He looks away for a second, then he seems to regain his breath.  


“He found me, okay? I was fixing my Jeep for the tenth time and he attacked me, and then he chased me to the library. I went up a scaffold and I removed the safe. I just wanted to knock him unconscious. I swear,” He looks at her after that, a desperate look on his eyes. She nods, “But it went wrong and a metal pipe went… right through him” He closes his eyes, a flash of memory tearing him a little more apart. He’s let it out all in a breath and he looks spent. “I called 911 but I got scared and… I don’t know. I should’ve tried to do something but I was just so scared, Lydia, I promise”.  


She waits a meditating second go by before she announces “So it was self-defense”.  


He looks at her in relief but the pain doesn’t leave his features “But Lydia, he’s dead because of me-“  


“And I’m here for you to get through that,” she cuts him off “but first you need to understand that. It’s not your fault. You were protecting yourself. It happened. But you’re not a murderer. Do you understand me?”  


He remains evasive for a second but seeing that she won’t back away, he nods.  


“Good”. She tells him.  


There’s a second of silence between them. She thinks for a moment, then she looks at him again, annoyance tapping at the corner of her thoughts.  


“Why didn’t you tell me?” She asks.  


"I just… I couldn’t. I didn’t fully understand what had happened, and so much was going on and… I just couldn’t have beared it you hadn’t believed me, like Scott”.  


“How can you say that? Of course I would have” She responds. She knows she shouldn’t but she’s getting angrier by the second. How could he not have seen that she would have been there for him? After everything.  


“Yeah, maybe, but,” He can't handle her look, so he gets up “Malia didn’t even resent me.” She looks at him, confused. He struggles to explain “What I mean is, she didn’t know what had happened, but she was fine with it. Just… fine. And now I know that she had been thinking about going after her mother and… she thought that if I did it too, then it would make her decision _okay_. And I’m not looking for punishment, I think, but I’m not looking for that either, I need someone who _understands”_.  


“And you think that just because Malia needed you to align with her agenda, I’m the same? Well, that’s just insulting” She spits, and gets up quickly, getting away from his touch.  


“What? No, Lydia! I don’t mean that! It doesn’t mean that I don’t trust you. It was just too complicated” He pleads.  


“And you think this,” she says pointing at her scull “is not fucking complicated to explain?!” She yells back “Nothing about what happens to us is uncomplicated. Nothing! But I’m still supposed to talk to you. How am I supposed to do that if you won’t do the same? How am I supposed to tell you if you keep your problems locked away?”  


“Lydia, it had nothing to do with you.” He tries, getting closer “I’m sorry, I just couldn’t do it!”  


“Then I can’t do this” She says definitively and gets out of his grasp just in time to turn back and go striding for the door.  
He is shocked for a second, unable to move. Then he wakes up and runs to her, grabbing her by behind just as she was about to reach for the door handle.  


“NO. Please. Please, please, please don’t go. I should’ve told you, I know, I just wasn’t ready.” He pauses for a second “But I’m ready now.” She stops arguing against him and turns around, slowly, her face red and the tears beginning to fall. “And I know it’s not ideal, and I know it was stupid and it’s awful that it’s taken me this long, but I’m here now. And I need you, Lydia.” He exclaims, a confession pushed from the inside out. “I can’t do this if it’s not with you. And I want to… If you just let me. I promise I’ll tell you everything. No more secrets.” He is both struggling to talk and almost yelling at the end, his hands are sweaty and red, and his face is a tear-stained mess, but he looks as sane as he has been in months. He waits for her to respond, but she’s already there.  


“Okay” She answers immediately, agitated.  


A pregnant pause. A second of frozen silence. And then he’s hugging her, the both of them crying. She rubs his back as he holds her as tight as he can, an unwinding mess of released fears and truths. They stay that way for a minute and then Lydia knows it’s time.  


“Stiles?” She begins.  


He’s too scared to face her, so he keeps his face buried in her shoulder, his voice coming out muffled.  


“Yes?”  


“I think I’m ready to talk about Eichen now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me in twitter/tumblr as:  
> @ElRincondDomive  
> themovie-seriescrazyaddict.tumblr.com


	3. You’re the one riddle I can’t solve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand I'm back.
> 
> First of all I want to thank you all so much for the hits (almost a thousand), the kudos, and the bookmarks and the subscriptions and that one comment that made my day. It's very encouraging, especially this being my first fanfic.  
> Also, because I don't take responsability for how dark this chapter got. I knew what I was gonna right, just not where it would lead and, well, you'll see. I'm sorry hahahaha, I apologize in advance. I do not intend to make this super dark, so I promise the next one will finally have some light, but this episode was essential. For the characters, and their future.  
> PS: For the sake of this chapter, we're going to pretend there's a rooftop at Stiles' house.
> 
> Finally, I'm posting this as the season has finally ended. The finale was fine, I felt there was too much going on but thankfully we can -mostly- say s05 was better than s04. Now Jeff says that the gates of heaven are open to Stydia and our time has arrived. My bet, knowing all we know? (the teaser, Dylan's schedule, the fact that he's in Canada right now?), they kiss or something in the first episode of s06, Stiles gets kidnapped and Lydia and their connection plays a major role in rescuing him, a process in which she realizes how she feels for him. It's a nice inversion of what happened this season, especially since she'll be saving him (finally), but I don't know how much I can bear a Dylan-less Teen Wolf...
> 
> Let me know what you think, of this chapter and in general, I'll see you in the next!

“The hardest part was not being in control of my own body”.

They’ve gone back to the couch. Stiles is sitting, Lydia laying, her head on his lap, looking up to his golden-brown eyes. Stiles is absentmindedly moving his long fingers through her hair.

“There was the mayhem and the fear, and the threat of violence, but what I feared the most was… to be used as a weapon against my will, I think”, she nods as if to reassure herself “Yeah, that terrified me”.

“Mmh, I get that”, he responds.

“Was it like that for you too?” She questions, without too much hesitation.

He tenses, his hand stopping as he avoids her look. She senses the change and quickly incorporates, pulling herself up and sitting on her knees, looking at him, and resting a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know if that’s forbidden grounds, Stiles. I don’t know all the rules yet.” She apologizes. 

“No… It’s okay. We said no secrets. I just…” He makes and effort to look at her “Haven’t really talked about it with anyone, I wouldn’t know where to start”.

“The beginning is usually the best place”, she teases. He lets out a chuckle. She does know how to encourage him.

So he tells her. 

The insomnia. The nightmares. The inability to read. **The riddles**.

“And then there was Eichen”.

“Yep”, she responds, awkwardly. She knows something else happened there but she’s been perfectly fine not asking in the past. It looks like her luck is about to run out.

“I can’t believe that the place is still open”, he argues.

“You tell me”. He looks at her, quizzically, there’s something he’s missed.

“Why on earth would your mother put you there? I mean, I highly doubt that there aren’t better facilities to treat catatonic states in the area.”

She lets out a long sigh, she’s also been trying to understand. Hard.

“Well… It’s not that easy, I guess. She didn’t know what was happening; she’s been in the dark about this for years, Stiles. And I suppose she couldn’t just do nothing. She needed to feel like she was doing something to help her daughter”.

“Well, that backfired. Terribly.” He mocks. She throws him a glare, then they both burst in laughter. They have such twisted, morbid humor, Jesus. She ends up hitting him with a pillow and sitting comfily close by his side, arms slightly touching, both staring at the turned-off TV.

A few seconds pass by.

“She wouldn’t let me see you, you know?” he suddenly says, “I know she was trying to keep things under control, and that whenever there’s trouble, there we are, but… It sucked, not being able to be with you. It hurt”.

“I know” She lets out a breath and for the first time in this past –lighter– minutes, she feels the need to let out tears form in her belly.

“I just, I needed to know you were okay, that’s all. I still managed to get in there a couple of times, though” He shows a very timid smile “I stole a guard’s key-card”, he adds, just a tiny bit cocky, just a little bit proud.

“I saw”, she responds.

“You did?” He asks, surprised.

“Not the felony thingy” she looks at him, entertained “the homework thingy”.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were really conscious…”

“Yeah, I told you, my mind never stopped being mine”.

“God, that’s embarrassing, I said some pretty cheesy stuff” He self-mocks.

“No, you didn’t. I liked it. I needed you there and you were. It made a world of difference” She’s saying all this things but she’s not looking at him. He puts his hand over hers. “Stiles?”  
“Yeah?” He wonders, not knowing what to expect.

“I didn’t always feel like you were there” She looks at him and a tear is falling down her cheek. Him impulse is to wipe it off with his finger but he’s stuck in his place. 

He doesn’t know what to say. “Oh” is what comes out. _Thank you, brain. A+ work, really_.

“I know that you saved me. I’m not taking that for granted – I’ve learned not to take _you_ for granted,” Her words are so intense that he’s using all his strength not to look away. She does, instead “but I was so lonely when Allison died. I lost my best friend, and I needed you. And I know you were dealing with so much but it kind of felt like you… like you had erased me. I felt for so long like something to be forgotten in order to move on, if necessary. I felt like I could… disappear.” The tears have stopped now, leaving her face red, but her expression is eerily calm and her hand has tightened its grip on his. “I know it’s something ugly to say, but I needed to”.

He lets some seconds pass, in case she has something else to say. When she doesn’t, he treads with precaution.

“Lydia?”

“Yes, Stiles?” She’s still not looking at him.

“I’m sorry.” He pauses “You will never know how incredibly sorry I am.” 

“Thank you” she responds, “I appreciate that”.

A minute goes by.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” He is pretty sure that’s where they’re headed, but he’s not taking any chances, if this goes poorly it will be unbearable.

“Yes” She answers. He’s exhales and is about to start when she stands up, promptly leaving his hand empty of touch “Just not right now, I need some air”.

And with that she’s gone.

 

* * *

 

She’s on the rooftop. He knows. He just hasn’t told his body yet. If he’s sealing this, he needs to do it correctly. They need to say what they feel, no matter the consequence. If more than what he wants makes its way to the surface, then so be it.

He finally moves.

Once Stiles accesses through a roof-window the small rooftop that faces the backyard, he sees that Lydia is on the opposite side, leaning against the balustrade. The wind is making her hair wave, a beautiful spectacle in orange tones. He hesitates for a second before joining her. The last rays of sun are bathing her face, her eyes are closed. She doesn’t move.

“Is it okay that I–” He begins.

“Yes”, she cuts him off.

He exhales a long, long breath, then he breathes in quickly and concentrates. The sky looks beautiful, the last remains of warmth spilling from the air, but he feels so very cold. The fact that his hand are slightly shaking doesn’t help. The returning sweat, neither. He tightens his grip on the balustrade.

“I wasn’t there for you. There’s no excuse for that. Things were beyond messed up and I just didn’t know how to handle it. I closed off, I took the easy road. I focused only on helping Malia because I felt responsible for her and I thought that would give me a purpose. I didn’t know how to face what happened. Or you”.

“That is not the only road you chose” She responds. She’s not being cruel, or too cold. She’s just calm and sad. And tired. It’s evident that she’s been having these thoughts for months now, so it’s not like she has to do anything more than letting go. Those words are her secretly kept mind-monsters, the cracks on the trust for who should be her anchor, her tether. _Those words stab him like razor-sharp needles._

“I know” He lets out, his breathing is getting ragged, he looks at her intently, unsure of how to follow, his eyes welling with tears.

“I’m not saying…” She tries to makes sense “I just don’t understand, Stiles. And I didn’t understand it back then, either. Why, after so much horror, would you jump into a relationship, especially with someone who needed so much adapting. It just didn’t seem… healthy, you know?” She’s looking at him now, her eyes an emerald sea of confusion. Fucking finally, he missed her looking at him even if it was just for some minutes. 

He holds it for a second, and then it begins.

“It all started in Eichen” That takes her a little bit more by surprise.

“Oh” _back to that_ , “Yeah, you were there together, I remember” She doesn’t want to hear it, but playing a fool hasn’t been her _forte_ for a while now.

“Yeah, and… well, there was the Nogitsune, and I didn’t know how much time I had… left, or if I’d ever come back from it and we were sort of going through that together,” this is killing her soul “and, it just kind of… happened”.

“You had sex” She concludes.

“Yes… I mean, no! Not like that, Lydia… I would never… I hadn’t even don– I was a virgin, okay? But it wasn’t just that” He looks like he’s struggling to explain it to her as much as he’s trying to explain it to himself.

“I know. I know you, Stiles,” she has shed the immutable exterior by now, she can’t hold it.

He stares at her, emotion scratching at the surface of his skin.

“We thought that we were going to die, and weren’t… hurting anyone. I don’t know, it’s weird to explain if you weren’t there, it was the whole situation. I cared for her, I just don’t think that was the only reason”.

“Laws of logic don’t apply when two people are together against disaster, trust me, I’m aware.” He swears he can see a glimpse of yearning in her tone, like she’s remembering instead of comprehending. An electrically vivid image of the locker room crosses his mind. “And you were free to do what you wanted and… after that, you were free to date who you wanted, I just had to keep on living in between, and it sucked. It sucked missing you and seeing you with someone else, just surviving, like I was the missing piece, the collateral damage.” She feels like she’s dumping nuclear waste over the bridge that connects them, but it’s all that is coming out of her. Stiles sucks it in for a second, just barely, and then seems to find the answer, like he was asking himself what had happened and suddenly came with the answer. He looks at her, his lips a tight line.

“I know it’s no excuse, and this is going to sound like one. But I didn’t feel much like… a person, anymore. After all that happened, I felt like I needed to do something good, like I needed to undo what I had done before I could… come back – to you. And Malia… it started as a pack mission, but we were too involved, and I guess I just lost my way. And you seemed to be doing just fine–“

“I’m great at lying” She concedes.

“Yes, you are. You are the one riddle I could never solve. I still can’t”. He sounds so longing it almost feels out of place.

She’s lost in his eyes by know. There’s so much tension and she can’t look away.

“But you… You were a coward, Stiles. I was there and you bailed on me. You should’ve faced me, you should’ve stopped whatever pity-party you were throwing to yourself and just talked to me”.

“How could I, Lydia?” He’s losing his patience. How can she not see it? “I couldn’t!”

“Yeah, that’s the thing, Stiles. You keep telling me that you can’t, but I can’t see why, because you never tell me!” She’s throwing her arms in the air, she doesn’t care.

He looks at her, trying to hold back the tears, rigid.

“Why couldn’t you, huh?”

Silence.

“WHY?!” She shoves him as hard as she can, hitting him in the chest. She can’t bear to see him like this. Unresponsive, an empty vessel.

“BECAUSE I KILLED ALLISON!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me in twitter:  
> @ElRincondDomive  
> And follow me on tumblr:  
> themovie-seriescrazyaddict.tumblr.com  
> Byee!


	4. How can I forgive myself?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Thanks for all the comments and kudos and subscriptions and bookmarks and *hyperventilates* I can't believe I already have more than a thousand visits, thank you! :)  
> This episode is the final 'look back' before we can 'move forward', you'll see ;)  
> I hope you enjoy it!

She stops in shock, Stiles scream making her want to take a step back.

“What?” She can’t believe this is what he’s been thinking all along. It’s been a year. _Every day_. **For a year**.

“I know you might not want to admit it to yourself, Lydia,” he’s a broken mess by now “but it’s the truth; I killed Allison and I couldn’t go back to you and ask you for comfort when _I_ was the reason she was dead!”

****

****

Lydia is staring at him dumbfounded.

“Stiles…” she begins “That is not true. That was not you. It was the Nogitsune.”

He feels his skin crawl. She notices; it’s like his body is rejecting the exoneration, as well as that name. Like every cell of his body is asking for guilt.

“And _I_ was the Nogitsune then!” He says rageful, slowly, in a falsely restrained voice “You don’t understand, do you?” he looks at her, almost pleadingly “I saw everything he did. I watched every life he took. I _felt_ it. The power. The desire. The need and pleasure for it all. Even if I didn’t do it, it was my body. My hands, my powers. I felt used for weeks after it all ended.” A single, burning tear falls down his cheek, his face contorted, undone. “I’ve felt it for so long… tainted.”

She can’t hold it any longer. The grudge. She leaps forward and embraces him, hugging him as tight as she can. He doesn’t move at first, stiff still, but then she senses a whimper and she feels him slowly rising his arms from the sides, were they had lingered, inert. He’s shaking as he slowly holds her back, clasping his hands in her t-shirt, at the small of her back, his face finding its place in her shoulder, the sobs growing more uncontrollable, the tears making her collarbones wet.

“I was so scared when Donovan attacked me, Lydia,” he says between sobs “that if I killed someone else, it would no longer be an isolated incident, that it would become a pattern. That one way or another the Nogitsune would never leave me and I would start losing myself again.” She’s caressing his hair when he pulls back to face her, inches away from her face, the last rays of sun painting a myriad of colors in his reddened-eyes, their arms and bodies still linked in a warm embrace. “And if I ever hurt anyone I cared about again… If I ever hurt _you_? I would’ve died” He sentences, more tears rolling down his cheeks. She’s crying silently by now, reaching the point where she can’t feel more emotions in one single afternoon. He gasps when he sees the first tear coming out from his eyes and –this time– he moves his hand to her face, his index and middle finger brushing it away. He’s not angry anymore, but the sadness of hurting her again is becoming unbearable. Her expression has darkened with ugly memories, but when she speaks, her voice is as soft as she can manage, but more confident than he could even attempt at the moment.

“Listen to me, Stiles, because I’m only going to say this once.” He nods silently, but she needs him to say it “Stiles, I need you to tell me that you’re listening, because if I have to go back to this… I’ll break, I promise.” He gets it now so he nods and looks at her at his most committed ( _I am listening, I swear_ ). “I’ve never felt as lonely as when you left my side all those months ago, Stiles,” she begins “but the reason I wanted you by my side is because I’m convinced –look at me Stiles– _convinced_ that you are not a murderer. And I know now how sorry you feel about what happened when it all ended, but I never – _never_ – want to listen to you say that you are sorry for what _that monster_ did. Alison died fighting, and she died fighting _him_. You’re the victim, not the hangman.” He’s looking at her pleadingly, a shaky sob leaving his chest as he finally is forbidden the sentence that he had cast upon himself. “And you know why I know it?” He says ‘no’ with his head, and she swears he’s so vulnerable at this moment –his hair and face a mess, his t-shirt disheveled, showing his collarbone to the lights of twilight– that she’s needing everything in her power not to kiss him right there, right then.“Because I also did not feel in control of myself these last weeks, and I was also terrified that they would use me against you, but I knew that no matter what happened, you would still be by my side in the end. Because I know you, Stiles. Because I know how and how much you feel. And because I love you too.”

He’s looking at her in awe. He’s been brought to his knees and, with a sweet little smile in his lips, he’s so very thankful. 

_Now kiss me!_

He does it. He looks at her one last second before thinking ‘ _oh, fuck it_ ’ and closing the space between them, ending so much need and sadness and sorrow in one ultimate kiss, their lips smashing feverishly against each other, their tongues finding their place in each other’s mouths as they taste the tears that are still drying in their faces.

But only in her mind.

In the real world, he keeps looking at her, his eyes lingering in every corner of her face before she moves her face forward until her lips are caressing his ear and says:

“Can you forgive yourself now?”

He has to hold a shiver from reaching the surface, but the answer is finally clear in his mind.

“Yes.”

She finishes linking her arms around his shoulder blades before she whispers back.

“Then I can forgive you for all the rest.”

They hug. Not angrily anymore, or nervously, but silently. They hug and it is not a kiss or a passion-filled clash of broken souls, but a momentous message that fills the air on that lukewarm late afternoon.

This is the rest of my life. It is finally here. _It has finally arrived_.

* * *

When the time to leave the rooftop finally comes, their return is almost silent. She steps back, holds her hand out so he can take it in his (‘ _come along_ ’) and they make their way in, through the small window, downthose familiar stairs and back to the couch where, without letting go of each other’s hands, they lay and curl against each other. Stiles goes first and she places herself in the small space created by his chest so he can spoon her, his arms circling her, his feet playing with hers. They talk some more now that the secrets are gone –those threatening their lives, anyway– before the words start to disappear and they reach a comfortable silence once again. 

He allows himself to remember the moment Lydia said those four magical words out loud; 'I love you too'. They sounded so good coming out of her lips, but he could be romanticizing the whole thing. He knows that she meant it in a friend-to-tether kind of way. He's not so sure if she knows that for him those words mean something else, but he can't bring himself to care about that right now. 

And as he gets sleepy and prepares to drift on to the land of dreams and nightmares, after she closes her eyes and falls down the rabbit hole, Stiles moves his face forward and kisses her in the cheek, tightening his embrace and smelling her scent before he can close his eyes and allow himself one last confession.

“I love you too, Lydia.”

* * *

When she wakes up, some hours later, a burning smell is filling the air.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.” Rushed steps, the loud noise of a metal platter hitting the floor “Oh, fuck! Come on!”

She raises herself out of her slumber and, as she rubs her eyes, she tries to locate where hell is breaking loose. 

The kitchen. Of all places.

Stiles is wearing cooking-mittens as he contemplates the remains of a pie, now decorating the floor tiles.

“S-Stiles?” She mumbles “Are you making pie?” It’s such a scene that it feels laughably out of place in her world.

He raises her face from the mess before him, startled.

“Shit…” He curses “I’m sorry! I know it looks bad. I just – I wanted to make something nice and,” he looks back down to the mess at his naked feet “well, I don’t think ‘nice’ describes…” he moves his hands in the air “this.”

She can’t help the laugher that escapes her mouth, or the ache in the middle of her chest when he looks up once again, an apologetic hand scratching his scalp and a shy not-so-sorry smile brushing his lips. He’s wearing an apron. He’s wearing a fucking Star Wars apron too small for his slim, long body, and he’s making it impossible to look away. _Monster_.

“Like what you see?” He finally says, in his best attempt at being confident and playful.

“Oh, sure. Nothing as arousing as a grown young man standing in my kitchen in a kids’ movie apron with a pie at his feet” She mocks.

“Star Wars is not a kids’ mo–“

“Need any help?” She stops his rant before it gets serious as she stands up and makes her way to the culinary catastrophe, hands crossed over her chest.

“You know how to cook?” He questions, surprised.

“No, but I’m guessing if you’re going to burn my house, I might as well be there to try and put down the fire” She argues.

“Ha, ha. Very funny.” He seems to fidget with the idea, trying to come up with an excuse to avoid needing any help. He did want to make something nice for her, especially after everything she had done for him. 

In the end, though, he surrenders. Half the rights to a pie is still better than a whole house burnt to the ground, no?

“Okay, you win. Pick the flour.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are about to get pretty sweet...
> 
> As usual, you can find me in twitter:  
> @ElRincondDomive  
> Or follow me on my tumbr:  
> themovie-seriescrazyaddict.tumblr.com
> 
> For those who've checked them out, hello and welcome! :3


	5. Introduction to Pie-Making

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a second right there and then. A frozen moment in time that is so perfect. And in that moment in which they both stare into each other’s eyes, completely exposed, they feel it. It’s going to happen, the moment has arrived. The moment where it all changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'm soooo sorry this took me so long. If I may excuse myself, this chapter involves considerable knowledge on how to make a pie and I'm famous for being able to burn omelettes, so every time I wanted to write, I remembered I had to look it up and never found the moment.
> 
> Because let's be clear, I'm garbage and this is just an excuse to put Stiles and Lydia in compromising positions involving pies, Pushing Daisies puns and tones of fluff. Like... tones.
> 
> On the plus side, I think it came out pretty nicely and it's only the first part to an even sweeter installment. Let me know what you think! :)
> 
> PS: If you haven't watched Bryan Fuller's two-season long, pie-making, mystery-solving Pushing Daisies, you should. Basically it's a couple of idiots in love solving crime, aka Stydia.

“Okay, so we’ve heated the apples–”

“We have.”

“–And we’ve dried them.”

“That too.”

“We’ve added sugar, and cinnamon, and salt, and something called cornstarch.”

“Which you obviously knew what was…”

“And so did you.”

“Obviously.” She moves around to look into the kitchen clock. An hour has passed by. “The dough should be ready.”

“It _should_.”

“So… shall we begin?”

Stiles hesitates a full second at the sight of Lydia covered in flour, sporting a “Go Mets!” apron, a sight that –he can’t deny– _almost_ hides the strong smell of smoke and burnt plates of pies that didn’t make the cut. As in ‘they were uneatable’.

“Sure, yeah. We can do it. Third time’s the charm, right?” He says, waking up from the image of such an odd situation.

“Third?–“

“Yeah, come on. Take the crust disk from the fridge, it has to be done by now.”

She is fairly unconvinced (past attempts have made her weary), but she obliges. When she returns and unwraps the plastic from the crust disk, Stiles is already waiting for her, a rolling pin in his hands. With his spiked hair and flour-mottled face, he looks like a mad man. A delicious, disturbingly attractive mad man, but still.

She lets out a light chuckle and sets the disk on the floured counter, putting herself aside to allow him to work better. It’s pretty remarkable how focused he seems as he starts to roll out the rolling pin over the dough. He’s lifted the sleeves of his shirt and she can see the veins, strained with the effort, going down his arms all the way to his hands, and his long, delicate, strong fingers. He has his tongue stuck in between his teeth in concentration. She takes time to think –and appreciate– how the dorky, spasm-riddled, hyperactive teenager he once was has become this more mature, smart, (relatively) quieter young man. Weird, _how things change right before your eyes_.

“What do you mean?” He suddenly interrupts her train of thought.

“What?” Did she say that out loud? Which part? _Oh, god…_

“You said ‘It’s weird how things change’,” he responds “what did you mean?”

“Uhm…” She has to think fast a way not to make this weird “I was just thinking, you know… The way we were before,” he stares at her, as if waiting for more, with a curious look on his face “and the way we are now.”

“ _We_ , who? The pack, you mean?” It kind of makes sense that he thinks that way. Things are so different, and Alison, even if the most important, is not the only missing piece in the chessboard. She could go with that, but she feels oddly bold and at ease right now. Maybe it’s the heat from hours of failed cooking, maybe the fact that he’s stopped rolling the pin and is now looking her in the eyes, a few steps away. God, he’s so beautiful.

“No. You and me, I mean.” She confesses.

“Oh” It’s all he says back. A few seconds go by of Lydia unable to say anything more and then they both start at the same time.”

“What I–“

“I guess–“ 

The both laugh awkwardly.

“You first” He says.

“No, you go” She’s not feeling so brave anymore.

“Well,” he gives in finally “I just… I guess I used to be _very_ weird around you a couple of years ago. I never apologized for that.”

“Stiles, I didn’t me–“

“No, I was just… It was stupid. I had a huge crush on you and I obviously didn’t know how to handle it. It was weird and it had to be pretty awkward for you, so I’m sorry.” He’s been getting closer and now he’s close enough that he can reach out and, absentmindedly, start caressing her hand. His is callous, but familiarly soft.

“Don’t be stupid, Stiles,” she says, looking at him. That takes him by surprise and, even though he doesn’t move his hand, he links his eyes with hers “I didn’t mean that things were bad before. Just that they are… better now. I don’t remember the moment it happened, but I didn’t use to feel this comfortable with anyone and now here we are,” she uses her free hand to awkwardly punch his arm lightly “solving crime and making pies!” she says rather dramatically, like it’s a TV-show slogan.

“We’re like Ned and Chuck from Pushing Daisies” He jokes, a cute little smile forming in his factions. _She could die_.

“Just like them” She follows on the joke before getting serious again “Anyway, what I meant is, I think that you are more comfortable around me too. Is that weird? It’s like I can… feel it.”

He’s staring at her, lost in her, the sweetest, most stupid lovey-dovey expression on his face, as he observes how she puts into words what’s happening between them, what he (and, wild guess, she) can’t even understand yet. He can’t help but have so much tenderness and admiration for her in that moment. She’s so smart. Distractingly smart.

“Well, that’s you, Lydia.” He responds, as his fingers start trailing so very slowly up her arm “You calm me down. You make me feel so at ease… I don’t know, it’s like…” fingers going up, up, up… then down, down, down “like of all of the places in the world I could be, I know I am exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

This single confession has been too much for him to deliver looking at her. Mid-confession he focused on what he could deal with; staring at his own hand caressing her soft skin, learning it, mapping it. Once he’s finished, he musters the courage to finally look up again.

“With you.”

There’s a second right there and then. A frozen moment in time that is so perfect. And in that moment in which they both stare into each other’s eyes, completely exposed, they feel it. It’s going to happen, the moment has arrived. The moment where it all changes. And then…

“Oh, my god! No!”

Before Stiles can fully comprehend what’s happening, Lydia leaps forward and basically tackles him to the ground. They both lose balance and end up scrambled in the floor, one on top of the other. He doesn’t understand. Did what he said make her so uncomfortable she needed to do that? And even in that case, how does them being so close to each other make it any easier? And then, Lydia’s visibly tense body goes limp and she releases a loud sigh. She’s holding the bowl of heated apples on her hands, before she sets it aside and glares directly back at him.

“You almost dropped them!” She yells, agitated.

“What? How? I didn’t even touch them!” 

She scrambles her way closer to his face “Yeah, you did! You grazed them when you turned around. You! Awkward! Turtle!” She emphasizes every word hitting him with a pointed finger. His chest, his shoulder, his forehead. They both look intently into each other, his face panicked, hers a ball of rage. Then they both start laughing uncontrollably, the situation just too ridiculous to keep it serious. When it dies off, Lydia lets her head rest in his chest absentmindedly, before looking up at him again.

“That was close.”

He senses some sort of double entendre, but he lets it slide. Too much emotions for today.

“Yeah, it was…”

They stare a second too long before they nervously break their awkward posture off as Lydia stands and helps him up with a waiting hand.

“Come, on, we still have to make the cover and I intend to eat sometime today.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Come on, you go now.”

They take the other crust disk from the fridge and it’s her turn with the rolling pin. She is constantly on edge because Stiles can’t stop fluttering anxiously around her, giving tips (tips she replies to with an angry “Stiles…”) and putting his body annoyingly close to hers, his warm breath tickling her neck and distracting her. Even covering the pie is a nightmare, as he offers to help with his quick, long fingers because she can’t tuck it in correctly to save her life and they end up weirdly entangled around each other, their hands touching and their constant contact making her sweat much more than she would like to admit, especially as he keeps apologizing and sizing her mood up with sheep-like eyes half of the time. Finally, they cut the vents, brush it with egg wash and sprinkle it with sugar and the pie is ready to be baked.

They’re so exhausted from all the pie-making they can barely sit (Lydia on a nearby stool, Stiles leaning against the counter) and watch how the oven bakes the pie slowly for the next half hour.

At that point, Stiles is already tapping his feet impatiently against the floor, not used to being still on one place for so long. He stands up, unable to control himself anymore.

“I’m bored, let’s do something.”

Lydia, who’s been absentmindedly looking at recipes on her old grandmother’s book (recipes she can’t –and will never attempt to– cook), looks up, curious.

“What do you want to do? We can’t leave the room. I won’t have another burnt pie in my hands, Stiles. I swear to god if–”

“No,” he cuts her off, his hands raised in a gesture of peace “no need to leave the room. We could just…” he looks around, pleading the universe to give him a sign. He finds it laying around near his backpack “Hey… Do you still have those speakers I gave you? The ones where you can plug in your phone?”

“Yes… Why?” She gives him an intrigued look.

“Where are they?”

“In my bedroom, next to my bed. Why?” She’s a little bit more concerned now.

“Be right back” He says, leaving before she can stop him.

“Stiles! Why?” He starts climbing up the stairs, two at a time “Stiles, don’t leave me here! You know I barely know how to stop this thing if it catches on fire!”

She hears his muffled voice coming from the above floor “Just a second!”

She rolls her eyes and waits for him to return, secretly more panicked than she lets on because she truly doesn’t know her way around the oven. Stiles does come back in less than a minute, setting the speakers on the dining room table, a cheeky grin on his face. He grabs his phone and plugs it in. He turns around, a devilish smirk crossing his flour-spotted features, only to be met with Lydia’s ‘I’m waiting’ face. “So?”

“So…” he takes his time to take the apron off “We still have… 20 minutes left. We can lay around waiting. Boring. Or…” he quickly turns around, hitting play on his phone’s screen “…we could–”

“Stiles…” She warns him, starting to see where this is going. He ignores her protest, taking a couple of steps towards her, until they are at arms-length. He then makes a solemn stance and offers his hand to her.

“Dance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per usual, you can find me on twitter:  
> @ElRincondDomive  
> And tumblr:  
> themovie-seriescrazyaddict.tumblr.com


	6. Advanced Introduction to Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a Stydia dance-athon.  
> Leave you pacemakers at the door, this is not for the faint of heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was supposed to take two or three days tops, but it has ended being this super-long thing (seriously, it's soooo long) and if you split it in three parts, I needed to stop after writing each of them because it was too intense and I needed a breather (I hope that means it's good). Personally, it's the one I've enjoyed the most writting, and I have a feeling you'll like this one too, trust me ;)
> 
> IMPORTANT NOTES:
> 
> I know that some authours suggest listening to a song while reading their fics, but here they're narratively important, so if not mandatory, I encourage you to listen to them while you read it even if usually that's not your thing, or at least make sure that you know them. It'll make it easier to understand what Stiles and Lydia are thinking and feeling.
> 
> In order, they are:
> 
> Worht it (Fifth Harmony): It's so famous I doubt anyone still hasn't heard it, but here's the link -> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YBHQbu5rbdQ  
> Plus, I so could imagine Dylan dancing to this.
> 
> Marvin Gaye (Charlie Puth and Meghan Trainor): This one's pretty famous too (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=igNVdlXhKcI) and it has a pretty straight-forward message, specially in that end... hehe.
> 
> Someday You'll Want Me To Want You (Brenda Lee): Now, this is the one that's really important. Also, it's suuuuper romantic and I since I heard it for the first time I knew I needed to include it in this fic (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rEcdKTcql3c).
> 
> And I think that's all. Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos and hits (we've crossed 2-thousand and I'm so happy you're liking it). I couldn't imagine I'd take this story past the 14.000 words and here we are, so thank you!

Lydia has to try really hard to hold on to her poker face as Stiles moves maniacally to the rhythm of ‘ _Worht It_ ’, his neck moving like a chicken as he looks at her with the naughtiest, cheekiest of smiles, Grinch-Style.

“Come on!” he insists, begging her to move along “You’re being no fun!”

“Stiles, you know I don’t like dancing that much” She tries, suddenly shy to show her silly side in front of the guy she likes.

“What?!” He yells over the music.

She raises her tone; “I just… This is just not my style!”

“What?! I can’t hear you!” He repeats, putting a hand to his ear as he continues to move erratically around her. Now, _this_ is the Stiles she remembers. The one that can make her lose her ever-perfect ice-queen exterior. _You little shit_.

She’s getting more and more frustrated by the second, as her growing inability to stop herself from grinning and getting flustered is turning her cheeks red, elevating the heat that Stiles proposition is causing on her and making her start to sweat.

“I just don’t feel like…” she then stops herself, her mouth making an ‘O’ shape “You’re making fun of me.” Stiles doesn’t answer but widens his shit-eating smile and keeps on dancing around her, closer and closer to her “Asshole.”

“And yet you can’t help adoring me,” He ventures, gambling on his seemingly upper position in this fight “so why don’t you stop acting like you are too cool to have fun with me and loosen up?”

She reacts at that. For some reason. Maybe it’s because it sounds dangerously close to a dare. Maybe, because she kind of likes the song. Maybe because she’s tired of the walls and the fear of being hurt making her recoil from anyone actually getting to her. When Allison died, she took everything she held dear, every feeling and hope, and put them in a safe deep inside herself. And the price of dragging that weight around has begun to be too high. She wants to be alive again, she wants to try and fail. She wants to abandon her safe zone, to feel exposed and afraid. And if that is happening with anyone, it had to be Stiles. Call it fate.

It starts slowly, just with her feet. As soon as Stiles notices, he raises both his arms in triumph, his fists in the air (“ _Yeah, baby!_ ”). Then come the arms in a slow swing and soon enough she’s shaking her head and moving her hips and letting Stiles drag her along the stupidest of dance routines, laughing uncontrollably, carelessly, when he looks at her in all seriousness while doing a crazy move and just… having fun. By the time the song is nearing its final seconds, Stiles has grabbed her hands and is making her spin, putting Rose and Jack’s dance in Titanic to shame. Finally, as the last words blast trough the speakers,he spins her one more time, purposefully making her lose balance.He then quickly grabs her by the small of her waist as she holds to his arms for dear life, bending over her a little before pulling her right back up again, making their chests collide lightly, their ragged breath filling the air, and causing Lydia’s strawberry blond locks to fall gracefully over her face.

“Wow” He lets out in a speechless sigh, an over-dramatic reverence in his eyes she’s not sure is completely fake.

“Shut up” She responds, beginning a full-on eye-roll at his expression. She begins to untangle from his embrace, not wanting to think about his eyes on hers, his constellations of freckles making her see stars. But as she begins to pull away, she realizes Stiles is not letting her hand go and the first notes to a new song start to play.

_Let’s Marvin Gaye and get it on…_

She flushes instantly as –without notice– the atmosphere between them shifts. She barely notices that, even at arm’s length, Stiles lightly caresses the inner side of her hand (the one he’s still holding) because his eyes, those beautiful chocolate eyes, are boring into her.

_You got the healing that I want_

It’s almost too intense before he lets a sweet, more relaxed smile graze his features. “Come on, just one more.” She overthinks it one more second before nodding lightly, her left hand finding his shoulder as he tenderly puts his right one around her hip, pulling her slightly closer.

_Just like they say in the song_

_Until the dawn, let’s Marvin Gaye and get it on_

As they start dancing around the kitchen, eyes not leaving each other’s faces, the music falls into the background, their bodies learning the other’s rhythm.

“You’re really good at this.” He compliments, not that surprised.

“I’m good at everything” she pretends to say it like it’s obvious “but what’s the fun on everyone knowing that?”

“No fun.” He responds.

“Exactly. Mystery is always a cooler ride.” He laughs at that, and at the way they manage now to make fun of what could be a much grimmer subject. They’ve found their rhythm, not only dance-wise but in their relationship. It seems so strange that just hours before they seemed to be at a crossroad. 

“It really was, though, a cooler ride,” He says, a little more serious now “being able to see what you were hiding.” And she hates him for that. She hates him for making her feel like her real self was (and is) much better, more interesting and complicated than whatever Cool Lydia Martin could _aspire_ to be. She can pretend to hate him for knowing –and appreciating– that she was more– “Challenging, I’d say that. But I love myself a challenge.” But more than anything she hates him for not being able to find a _real_ reason to hate him for. Disregarding Stiles Stilinski all those years ago had been easy. Falling for him now and pretending like it is no big deal? Not so much.

“Oh, I wasn’t aware I was a puzzle to be solved. I had sworn I was a human being, just this morning.” That’s as hard as she’s going to try. That’s all she’s got.

“Come on, Lydia, you know I don’tmean it like that. It’s just… I’ve realized there’s two kind of people, you know? There’s those who come easy to you, and those who unfold slowly, a layer at a time. And sometimes you can make it your business to get to know someone and end up coming empty because, well, there isn’t more to it,” They keep on swinging to the music ( _You got to give it up to me, I'm screaming mercy, mercy please_ ) “but there are other times when the more you learn about someone the more fascinated you become.” So much for trying not to feel disarmed by his words. _Who says that?_ “Not that I am… weirdly fascinated–” he laughs, nervous “–or anything like that, but… you know.”

“I know.” She says, grasping exactly what he meant. She gives it a little bit of thought before continuing. Meghan Trainor’s solo starts playing as she begins to vocalize her thoughts.

_And when you leave me all alone_

“Have you ever thought…”

_I’m like a stray without a home_

“…how different things would be if we weren’t like that?”

_I’m like a dog without a bone_

“Like what?” He asks, curious.

“Innate over thinkers.”

_I just want you for my own_

“Oh…”

_I got to have you babe, woah_

“…well, it wasn’t that hard to see you were more than met the eye.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I would’ve let anyone see. You were very–”

“Pushy?” He self-teases.

“Insistent, I’d say.” She concedes, a knowing smile in her lips “I’m just saying… I never thought it was worth it, letting someone in. But then you came along and suddenly, I don’t know, it was just easier to let _you_ figure it out than everyone else.”

_There's loving in your eyes_

_That pulls me closer_

“That’s me. Easier all the way.”

( _Oh, it pulls me closer_ )

“No, stop it. Don’t belittle yourself,” she reprimands, surer than ever that she knows what she’s saying “I’m not saying you were easier or that I didn’t care if you thought less of me because you weren’t popular, or were unimportant.”

“Ouch–“

“I’m saying that you matter, to me.”

_It’s so subtle_

“And that you mattered then and that I knew that you were smart enough–”

_I’m in trouble_

“–to make sense of the hints I was leaving you. It kind of became… my favorite game to play.”

_But I’d rather be in trouble with you_

He’s so surprised he almost misses his beat. Almost. “Yeah, mine too.”

_Let’s Marvin Gaye and get it on_

She smiles at that. “And, hey, I’d like some credit over here, okay? I’dprefer to think I figured you out, too. I’m not the only one who keeps things to her own.”

“What? How dare you? I’m an open book. No secrets over here.” He let’s go to make an ‘I swear’ cross over his chest.

“Oh, so…” She comes closer, her hands now crawling up his chest, then lightly pulling at the lapels of his shirt “I’m stupid and you have no idea what a defense mechanism is.”

He tenses at that. “Wh- whaaaat?”

“Oh, come on, Stilinski! The sarcasm, the neck scratching,” she takes it a tiny bit further and moves her hand slowly up her neck, tangling them around his nape, her body beginning to press against his “the way you’re sweating right now…”

“What? I’m not sweating, shut up!”

“Wow,” she mock-gasps“it looks like it’s raining over here…”

_I’m screaming mercy, mercy please_

“Come on, that is so unfair…”

“Is it?” She responds, a question of her own dancing in her eyes.

“Okay, okay, fair is fair; you see me too.”

“ _Now I see you_. This is fun, we should do it more often.” It’s her turn to smile annoyingly proud of herself.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” He fakes annoyance as he tries to hide a burning-fever smile. He’s feeling light-headed.

“Maybe.”

_Until the Dawn, let’s Marvin Gaye and get it on…_

_Uuh!_

The song ends and Stiles and Lydia find themselves impossibly close, now without a reason to keep it like that, but without much will to move. It feels _too right_ to move.

“Yeah, I figured as much. No banshee senses tingling needed.”

_I know that someday, you'll want me to want you_

Stiles’ eyes go wide as he lets go of her embrace, his neck turning dramatically towards his phone whiplash-style, horror in his eyes.

“What?”

“Aahhh… nothing, nothing,” he stumbles as he tries to make his way to the speakers in the living room “I just… Well, we’ve danced enough, and the next one is kind of a bummer.” He quickly stops the song, which makes Lydia’s instincts scream.

“Stiles?”

“What?” He says, as he suddenly looks at her, his forehead shining knowingly, the sound of a hard gulp escaping his mouth, too loud not to be heard.

“Why don’t you want me to hear that song?”

“Who says I don’t want you to?” he moves a step sideways, covering the speakers with his body “I just think it would be… smart–“ Lydia moves closer, Stiles takes a step backwards “–not to lose sight of the… mmm… oven, you know?” She’s now right in front of him, raising a more-than-suspicious eyebrow at him “Because, well, we’re not exactly… great cooks and… so…”

“Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“Move.”

“N-no?”

She puts her hands in his shoulders and attempts to take him out of the way. “God, why are you being so stubborn? I just want to listen to the song!”

“Okay, okay!” He gives in, allowing her to reach the speakers. She stands there, a little bit out of breath because, let’s face it, there’s no way she could’ve been able to move his 176 pounds of weight on her own. She observes him silently: his eyes are wide and his mouth a small line. He looks like a scared puppy. She hits play.

_When I’m in love with somebody else_

He blushes furiously. It’s a love song. A 60s’ sad, slow, melancholic love song. So not his style. But he looks way too embarrassed for that to be everything. She decides to trade carefully.

_You expect me to be true, and keep on loving you_

_And though I'm feeling blue_

_You think I can't forget you_

“Why didn’t you want me to listen to this song?” She says as she walks around him, not leaving his eyes “Too manly to listen to old love songs?”

_Until someday, you'll want me, ah, to want you_

That bit of humor relaxes him a tiny bit and he allows himself to laugh lightly. The tension then returns. “Well, uhm... God, this is embarrassing. Lydia, do we really have to do this?”

_When I am strong on somebody new_

“No. We can stop it,” he raises his eyes from the floor, hopeful “as soon as you tell me why you didn’t want me to listen to this perfectly normal song.”

_And though you don't want me now_

“Jesus. Okay. So… you know what we talked about earlier? Me? Awkwardly pinning for you all those years ago?”

_I’ll get along somehow_

“Y-Yeah?”

“Well, this is kind of the song–”

_And then I won’t…_

“–I used to listen to–“

_…want_

“–When I felt specially… blue.”

_…you!_

The lyrics finally get to her and she suddenly understands.

“Oh.” She fucked-up. All the way to China and back. This is a major screw-up, she can see that now. He looks like he’d rather die than stay one more second in that room. She has to do something. Fast. “Would you… like to dance to it? Like, now?” _What the fuck? Stop it. Stop it! You don’t want this… now. It’s way too soon, right?_

He’s as startled by her proposal as she is. Not because she’s asking him to dance to a slow song, but because of what that song in particular means. “Y-you sure?”

 _No, she’s not_. “Yeah,sur– I’m sure.” She says, faking nonchalance. _The air, ladies and gentleman, could be cut with a knife_.

He nods as if he’s not really there, like they’re talking about what take-out they are going to order for dinner (‘ _all right, cool cool cool_ ’). Then it seems to dawn on him, he looks up into her eyes and has a change of attitude, almost physical, and he begins to move.

He steps closer, step by step, as if he’s dragging his feet against their will. He then slowly laces his hands around her waist, looking into her eyes as if asking for permission (which he has) and allowing her to put hers around his neck.He seems about to stumble at every second but they begin to move quietly.

_I said that someday…_

“See? There’s still plenty to find out. I’m _still_ figuring you out.” She says, both remembering their previous conversation and trying to calm him down, as if they’re in the same page, step by step moving closer to their fate.

_…You’ll want me_

He responds with a shy nod, looks at her eyes, looks down, then back at her eyes.

_…To want you_

“Stiles… It’s okay,” she insists as they keep on dancing “I’m okay with this. All that happened years ago, what matters is now. Are you okay with this?”

“Y-yes. I am, _more than okay_.” She smiles at his sudden nervousness. _Since when did she get so bold? Or was she always like this?_ And with that, his hands move from shyly holding her to embracing her, going a little bit further around her petite body.

_When I'll be strong, honey,_

_I'll be strong for somebody new_

“See? I find out stuff about you, you help me understand things about myself. Team work.” 

“What did I help you find out?” He questions.

“Well, I spent so much time feeling like the weak link between you guys and now, for the first time I might be able to help.”

_And, and then thought, you don't want me now_

“How did I help you with that? I thought your powers like… came to you in Eichen.”

_I'll try to get along somehow_

“Well, yeah, but you were there when I didn’t even know what I was. Remember the keys?”

_Then I won't, baby I won't_

He thinks back to those easier days. “They were cold.” He answers, almost sweetly, almost nostalgic. They both laugh then, letting some of the tension between them go. She bathes herself in the moment before saying anything else. She notices Stiles is getting closer –like he wants to put his head on her neck– but that he doesn’t move, constantly staring at her face and then looking timidly away, testing the scene. She realizes he’s panicking a bit between so many things he might want to attempt, but at the same time, too afraid to stop looking at her. He’s mortified. She loves it. Curious how he seems both bolder and yet more scared than that time they danced in the Spring Formal back in Sophomore Year. 

_I won't want you!_

“God, I can’t believe so much has happened since then.” He comes out of his ordeal, suddenly aware of her again, but in a different way “I can’t believe I’m supernatural at all.”

“Yeah, you kind of left me alone in the ‘human’ boat. Not cool, Lydia. Not cool.”

“What? I thought you were an abominable snowman!” He gasps, dramatically. He widens his eyes, surprised he remembers that “I’ve been wrong for so long!” He’s laughing by now, taking one of his hands from her back to her face to ‘boop’ her on the forehead, mock-chastising her for making fun of him. “Stop it! It’s not funny. You’re a cool-ass banshee and I’m just… A Stiles.” He mumbles.

“Well, you’re _my_ Stiles.” She ventures “My very own Stiles Stilinski and I wouldn’t change you for the world.”

He’s abashed and unprepared for this kind of honesty, so he turns to humor. “Yep, I’m afraid I’m not returnable.”

“Oh, lucky me!”

“But neither are you, Lydia.” _Two can play this game_.

“I’m not?”

“No, of course not…” He says, more serious than she expected. This game they’re playing seems to go up and down like a rollercoaster. His eyes, unfocused and nervous before, have found their place in worshiping her, a decidedly different expression plastered in his factions. And then she feels it, slowly. His free hand starts trailing up her back, almost unnoticed. It reaches the upper part of her dress, her spine, her neck. She shivers as he finds her nape with just one finger, and then continues to caress over her hair, a ghostly touch over her. They’re both covered in flour, but she can hardly care. Neither of them is moving and he doesn’t seem to think that’s very important either. She wonders why before realizing the song ended a long time ago. His finger reaches her forehead and trails down, down, down the bridge of her nose. Then he pulls it away and goes back to her strawberry-blond locks, taking a single strand of hair which has gotten loose from her pony-tail and following it all the way out to its end, where he rolls it on his finger and tugs twice, making her chuckle. He laughs too as he tucks it back behind her ear and then he puts two gentle fingers over her cheek, looking at her intently. 

He gulps and she waits and even as she’s been caught in steamy locker-rooms and made out with guys who knew what they were doing she believes this is the purest, most ecstatic romantic moment of her life, a perfectly still-in-time encapsulation of what movies talk about, the single most erotic instance of her existence. That’s before he begins to move those fingers over her sugar-clouded face, smearing the powder away in a journey all the way down to her full lips, pressing a little bit harder there to remove the flour and exposing them to his molten-gold stare. As he brushes over them and pulls his fingers away, he looks one more time into her eyes before returning to his mission, looking satisfied with his work and then, slowly but surely, beginning to get closer. His free hand falls instantly behind her neck, pulling her to him, and she can feel his warm breath as his slightly-parted lips come gently to her. He stops right as he’s about to kiss her and she holds her breath, her heart beating hardly against her chest. She wishes he can’t hear it. Or maybe that doesn’t matter anymore, because he closes his eyes as he plays to brush the air in between their mouths, lips almost touching and, finally, he leans in and he–

_BIIIIIIIP BIIIIIIIIIIIP BIIIIIIIIIIIP!!!_

_BIIIIIIIP BIIIIIIIIIIIP BIIIIIIIIIIIP!!!_

_BIIIIIIIP BIIIIIIIIIIIP BIIIIIIIIIIIP!!!_

An unbearably loud noise wakes them up from their trance, at least enough for their heads to move a full inch away from each other, their eyes opening, reality come crashing through their young-adult love bubble. Their senses take a full second to figure out where they were before they lost track of time and space and their situation –arms around each other, the knowledge that they were about to (and still could) kiss– becomes painfully hard to ignore. 

“The oven.” She says with a broken whisper for so much time without speaking. If there was a cameraman framing them he would pull away right this second to show a kitchen covered in smoke, the oven screaming for help.

“Yep.” He agrees.

“We burnt another pie…” She says in a groan, pretending to be ‘oh, so sad’ for it, and almost pulling through, like she really means it.

“The fifth, yeah.” She can’t figure out if he’s angry at them or at the oven. Probably both?

“We should… we should stop it. It’s going to catch fire if we don’t.” She says, hyperaware of how he licks his lips without taking his sight out of hers.

“Yeah, we should…” It’s the last thing he says before beginning to approach again, faster this time. After all, time is of the essence here. 

She’s going with it in what she’ll recall as the most irresponsible she’s been since she was sixteen and then she hears a loud BANG! and she curses under her breath. If the oven has exploded it’s going to be a huge mess. Such a huge mess… _Focus, Lydia! Safety first… right?_

But it’s not the oven who’s screaming for help. It’s Scott, who had kicked the door open (hence the loud noise) and is now screaming his friend’s name through the house.

“Stiles! We figured it out! Stiles where are you, man? I can’t believe you’re not answering my texts!” He reaches the American-style kitchen squinting through the smoke and spots them (plenty of feet away, tight around each other, next to the speakers in the living room) and the oven (in his last breath, barely holding up after an afternoon of sheer amateur-cooking torture) both at the same time. Decided not to ask question he doesn’t want the answer to, he goes for the obvious:

“DUDE! YOU’RE KITCHEN’S ON FIRE!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry! Hahahahha  
> Things are about to get messy now...


	7. Pause

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again!  
> I first want to thank you for the nice comments in last episode, they meant a lot.  
> This one effective immediately puts a pause (hence the title) to the nurturing, safe-at-home part of this fanfic (for the moment) an sets the real plot in motion. It's an idea I had in mind since the start (I didn't plan on making this just happily-ever-after yet) but I decided I'd only use it if I felt capable of pulling it off. I think it's safe to say that with the experience of past chapters I feel capable, so I'm going to give it a try. I more or less now where I want this to go.
> 
> You'll see, though, that this part will be pretty canon-divergent, as I can't find a way to introduce Lydia and Stiles' arc into the overly complicated plot that ended the real season 5b of the show. Also, I believe this is a more interesting way to go in regards to their relationship. As the actors many times say; you'll have to wait and see.
> 
> So, I guess this is it. This came sooner than usual because action is easier to write than character development (at least, for me), so it took me very little to write (surprisingly). It's not exactly filler but a necessary step and it still has some cute moments (I think), so let me know what you think (about the chapter and about the direction this is taking).

“Stiles! What the hell, man? What are you guys doing? Do you want your house to burn to the ground?” Scott yells over the beeping sound and the smoke, running around the kitchen, opening the windows and turning off the oven.

Lydia and Stiles have to physically disentangle from each other, virtually jumping a step away. It is almost painful, but the second they took to do so when Scott arrived was already a mistake they were not allowed to commit if they wanted to deal with this between the two of them. Coming up with an excuse is not that easy, though.

“Uhm, yeah, sorry man,” Stiles babbles as he approaches the kitchen, helping Scott prevent the complete destruction of his house “we got distracted, it was stupid, sorry…” It can’t be said that his brain is working fast and brilliantly, but at least he’s moving and talking. Lydia’s ability to react has been frozen by recent events and she can barely take a couple of steps and try to control the buzzing in her ears. Her heart is beating like crazy.

“Jesus, man… just, what were you doing?” Scott blatantly asks when the danger seems to be gone. Lydia can’t fully see their interaction because Stiles has his back to her, but she sees him tensing and Scott’s face going from confusion, to understanding, to a frustrated sigh. Whatever look Stiles gave him was enough for him to stop asking questions. She’d die to know which. “A-anyway… I came because we’ve got it. We know who The Beast is.”

“Jesus, what?!” Stiles and Lydia say almost in unison. “Why didn’t you start with that?” Stiles almost jumps, his extremities going wild. Lydia is now by his side and places a calming hand in his elbow, a simple touch that startles him but helps him get quiet. She then slides it down his arm, placing it on his wrist, which she grabs before speaking for the both of them. “Who is it?”

They both wait for the answer in an aggravated silence before Scott confesses a hard truth. “It’s Mason.” The confession falls on the both of them like a bucket of cold water. He’s not exactly their closest friend but he’s Liam’s best friend and is hard not to feel responsible for having dragged him into this mess in the first place. Stiles ruffles his hair, and Lydia follows him to the arm of the sofa, where they both sit in close proximity, together against fear.

Stiles is the one to speak this time. “What do we do now? We can’t just… kill him.” He looks up at Scott, waiting for answers he may not have.

“Well, Kira and Malia are trying to contact Liam and we’ll meet tomorrow morning at my house to make a plan, but right now I think we should pay a visit to Deaton, just in case he knows something.”

Stiles and Lydia both nod in agreement and Scott leaves to get Stiles Jeep, giving them a few seconds alone. They’re both standing in the middle of the empty living-room, and it’s hard to believe how the atmosphere has changed so fast in so little time. The kitchen is a mess of burnt pies and cooking ingredients spread everywhere, the sun seems to have set in a matter of minutes, leaving the room low-lit, darkness now slipping through the cracks. The speakers are still where they left them, a few fit away from where they had been dancing, some heart-beats away from what could have been their first kiss. Lydia moves her hand a little bit lower, from Stiles wrist to his hand, and tangles them together, using her free one to reach up his other arm before gently cupping his face. “Are you okay?” She asks.

He’s closed his eyes as soon as he’s felt her contact, leaning into it. “Y-yeah, yeah. It’s just… It’s all so unexpected. I was kind of hoping to get more time with you before going back to… you know.” He says as he places his hand on top of hers, a sad, warm smile grazing his features. The faint ghost of a barely-there laughter escaping his lips.

“And we’ll get it, Stiles. When this is over.” She reassures him, but she understand how Stiles, having been possessed, gets uneasy at the prospect of someone else going through the same thing.

He nods and looks at her, a look that screams he’s remembering what was happening seconds ago. He wants to say so much before it can be too late, but he doesn’t have the time. “Lydia, listen–“

“You’ll tell me later, when this is over.” She interrupts, a shy smile masking her nervousness at what he might want to say. He nods again, as if he understands that some things come first and that the Mason-situation put a pause on whatever was going on between them. But then, he moves forward and kisses her gently on the tip of her nose, leaving his lips there for a second too long, eyes closed, before pulling away. Lydia is both surprised and relieved at that, the sudden contact making her lips part and her limbs relax, her muscles loosening up a bit, as if for that split second things don’t have to be that fucked-up, an oasis of light in a world of shades. She’s closed her eyes, and when she opens them he sees a fear, an insecurity in his she doesn’t know how to interpret. He’s biting his lip in an endearing way that makes her insides melt and she wonders; Is it The Beast? Is it about them? Before Scott can come back they both leap forward and embrace, hugging each other as if it might be their last chance in a very long time. The night seems to get colder as they both close their eyes, breathing each other’s scent.

 

* * *

 

It’s a quiet drive to the clinic after Scott comes back and tells them the Jeep is ready. Stiles lets him drive as he and Lydia sit in the back seat, her head on his shoulder, their hands still tangled. Scott feels something has changed between them in the last few hours, but doesn’t say anything.

When they get there, Deaton is already waiting for them and makes them pass with a nod of his head. Once inside, they explain the details and wait for his answer, tension filling the air.

“Well, this is not exactly my area of expertise–“

“Is it ever?” Stiles says, before Scott shoots him a look, silently telling him to shut up.

“–But The Beast is an ancient creature which is not going to be tricked easily.”

“Again, not a surprise.” Stiles says. He looks nervous, so Lydia hold his hand tighter, getting his attention, and tells him to relax with her eyes.

Deaton pretends he hasn’t heard him and follows. “Right now it might be too late already to try and warn Mason. If he’s gone, it’s more than likely that The Beast is already eating what’s left of him away, so trying to separate them might be tricky.”

“But not impossible?” Lydia guesses.

“Technically, no. But it would involve going down a path you might not be interested in.” He warns. The way he’s being so mysterious and secretive is getting on Stiles nerves, and both his friends can sense it, so Scott steps forward. “Whatever it is, we’ll do it. Just say it.”

“Yeah, I mean, we gave ourselves as sacrifices to find a freaking tree stump not one year ago, so you can trust us, we don’t get scared that easily.” Stiles adds.

Deaton remains quiet in a way that makes Lydia’s senses wake up. Something’s off. He’s giving Scott a look that says he would rather have this conversation in private, but the boy intervenes before he can ask. “Whatever you have to say, you can tell the three of us.” 

“Yeah, I mean, he’ll tell us later, so…” says Stiles.

Deaton seems to put up an already lost fight for one more second before he gives in and delivers the solution in the form of the words Lydia had never wanted to hear. She feels how Stiles goes rigid, his face suddenly void of any expression but horror, and a visible shiver going down his spine as the Doctor pronounces the dreaded, fatal words:

“If you want to effectively kill The Beast, you’ll have to set the Nogitsune free – again.”


	8. You Shouldn't Be Alone Tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! The writting bug seems to have bitten me because it takes me now less and less to write more episodes. I'm happy that you seem to like the direction this story is taking so keep letting me now what you think. Your kudos and comments always make my day :)  
> Enjoy!

_An ice-cold gut punch hits Stiles as he hears Deaton say the words. As if in response to them, his world loses focus, a buzzing sound filling his ears, his vision getting blurry. He hears the protests of his friends but they seem very far away, distant_.

“What? No!” Lydia yells, letting go of Stiles sweaty hand and taking a step forward. “No way we’re freeing that _thing_ again!” She spits with repulsion at the word.

“Deaton, there must be another way. We can’t risk anyone getting hurt again. It’s too dangerous.” Scott argues.

_He starts to struggle for air, and he swears that he’s choking, a nauseous feeling rising in his throat_. 

“I’m afraid nothing would be as effective” he responds “–or as fast. Time is of the essence here. If you really want to save Mason, this might be the only way.”

_Finally, he turns on his heels and, stumbling, makes his way to the door, gasping for a way out_.

The sudden action of their friend takes both Lydia and Scott by surprise.

“Stiles?” Scott shouts after him as he sees him disappear through the door. He begins to make his way out but Lydia stops him, looking him in the eyes. “Maybe I should go.” She says, concern in her expression. Scott struggles with the idea for a second, sighing, but in the end he understands it’s probably the smartest choice. He nods in agreement and Lydia wastes no time in turning and reaching for the door, going as fast as she can.

Stiles has been walking away in circles since he stepped into the cool night air, soaking in it. Taking sharp breathes and letting them go ragged and unevenly. He’s coming down from the high he suffered in the clinic, but he’s still very much in shock.

“Stiles!” He hears in the background. He knows it’s Lydia but he’s not ready to face her yet. Instead, he stops walking, allowing her to catch him in the middle of the parking lot. “Stiles?” She asks as she gets to him, reaching for his elbow and making him face her, something he obliges to. “Jesus, Stiles, you worried us, getting out like that. Are you okay?” She says, concern in her voice.

He tries to answer with a timid ‘yes’ but a sob threatens to come out and the tight not still closing his throat prevents him from lying. So he just looks at her eyes for a second before finally shaking his head ‘no’. At that, Lydia takes a step forward, intending to hug him, to assure him that they won’t do anything that puts him in danger, but he steps back. He needs to get it out of his chest. “I can’t, Lydia. I can’t do it.” He says, his voice shaking “I’m so sorry, but I can’t face him again.” A single tear falls down his cheek, out of his by-now puffed eyes, as he looks down in shame. He must feel so guilty and weak. And she can’t have him thinking that.

“And no one is saying that you have to, Stiles.” She finally answers, taking a step forward once again “We won’t– I won’t allow it. No matter what happens, I won’t put you in that kind of danger, I promise.” He looks up at that, nodding, but his body doesn’t stop trembling, so he wraps his arms around himself, making himself small, trying to contain the ghosts behind the walls, the sobs forming in his chest. She’s more bothered by that, or by the thought that he might consider that she would care so little about him that she would just throw him to the wolves, than by any other millenary spirit or monster. How can he not know what he means to her? “Stiles, look at me.” She says as she reaches for his arm again. This time, he doesn’t pull away, so she takes it as a good sign. He’s still not looking at her, though, so she puts a hand to his cheek, making his eyes close and his body relax at the contact. She waits until he opens them again and faces her before going on. “I would never put you in danger like that. Never, you hear me?” He stares at her attentively as she speaks “This fight… This life? I can’t have it without you. I don’t want it. And this hero complex of yours…” he laughs timidly “It goes both ways, okay? I would burn in flames before letting anyone hurt you. And there’s no one I would do that for. I wouldn’t put myself on the line for anybody–” she puts both her hands in his face now, intently looking at him “but you.” He smiles at that and when he nods this time, he means it. Lydia smiles too, satisfied, and leaves his face, so he can hold his hand, pulling him with her back to the clinic. “Come along.”

He hesitates for a second before he takes in one final breath and obliges. When they meet with Scott and Deaton again, Stiles excuses himself with a shy ‘sorry about that’ but they know better than to ask questions. With the looming threat of their recent decision and knowing that they’ll have to talk to Liam tomorrow, they all leave for a much needed rest, a sword of Damocles hanging over their heads.

They drop Scott off at his house first, promising to call as soon as they get home safe, but when they arrive at Lydia’s, she doesn’t move.

“This is you.”

She looks at him without answering, a strange expression on her face. She’s had a bad feeling tingling at the back of her head since Deaton told them the bad news, and she’s not taking any chances. “You shouldn’t be alone tonight,” She says, and as Stiles is trying to brush her worry of, she adds “and neither should I.” He quiets at that, a more charged atmosphere taking charge of the situation. She holds her hand and tries to make the moment less grim. After all, warmth can be found even in the darkest, coldest of times. “You know… we could watch _Star Wars_ until we fall asleep.” She entices him the best way she can. He holds still for a second, and she worries that he’s more troubled than she first thought –because the Stiles she knows would have jumped at that– but then he looks up mischievously. “Listening.” She laughs and nudges his arm before she exits the car and waits for him on the other side. She holds his hand again as they make their way to her house and, after she checks that her mother is sleeping soundly on the upper floor, they make their way to her room. It’s only then that she realizes they’re at _her_ house, and therefore there isn’t a Blu-ray Special Edition of the whole saga just laying around. She curses at her mistake as she looks apologetically at Stiles but he raises a finger to stop her and makes his way to her bed, kneeling and taking a box from under it. She peeks curiously as he places it on the covers, a gasp escaping her lips when she realizes all the Star Wars movies are there, meticulously classified in chronological order.

“How did _that_ get there?” She questions, dumbfounded.

“Oh, I made copies long ago and put them in each of your houses just in case.” She looks at him half-terrified, not exactly sure of what ‘just in case’ meant in his mind. “–Any of you wanted to see them one day.” He elaborates, as if it is the most normal thing in the world.

“How did you know I wouldn’t find it before a chance came along?” She questions.

“Oh, they were strategically placed in locations I knew none of you would check.” He answers, smiling oh-so-proud of himself as he picks the first film of the saga, before he looks at her and realizes she doesn’t get it. “When was the last time you cleaned your room?” He asks in the form of an explanation.

Lydia sighs as she thinks, before she realizes the question is rhetorical and then lets out a mock-offended laugh. “Ha-ha, very funny” She says as she sits on the side of the bed, next to him.

“More like… smart?” He says, hopeful that he didn’t cross a line that made her angry. Or be creeped out.

She rolls her eyes as she can’t help but laugh at his dumb childishness sometimes and lets it pass. This time. “Okay. You’re very smart. Now, are we doing this or not?”

There are days in which she finds it hard to keep on fighting. Days in which she misses too much what she’s lost and is still losing. For those days she’ll save the smile that Stiles gives her. She knows it may be just for some hours, but he looks so happy. So carelessly and worrilessly untroubled, that he suddenly looks years younger. In that moment, she has an impulse to kiss him, to not wait another minute to tell him how she feels about him, to fall asleep by his side tonight as they both enter this last fight together. As in _together_ together. But she refrains from it at the last moment, knowing that, as she told him earlier, there will be a time for that.

So they both jump in bed (Stiles first, patting the covers next to him amusingly) and they hit play and then spent the next two hours watching the first of six movies that Lydia knows Stiles loves so much, her head resting on his shoulder, her hand splayed across his chest. And since she knows that he’s extra-worried that she will like them, she doesn’t hesitate before pointing every scientific inaccuracy she finds along the way, at which Stiles responds by either pausing the movie annoyed, shooting her a look, or by telling her to ‘shut up’ because ‘it’s perfect’. As the credits roll out and he’s waiting for her to finally admit that she had been missing out for so long, he realizes that she’s fallen asleep, so he closes the laptop carefully and he twists trying not to wake her until he’s spooning her. And like that, one hand around her and the other gently caressing her hair, he falls asleep too.


	9. Morning Bliss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for not posting in two weeks! I've been pretty busy and I needed some space to begin writting again. The next episodes will hopefully come faster. As usual, thank you so much for all the comments, kudos and visits.
> 
> ALSO: IMPORTANT. CHECK THE NOTES AT THE END OF THIS CHAPTER. THERE'S A QUESTION REGARDING THE CONTENT OF THIS WORK THAT I'D REALLY APPRECIATE YOU ANSWERING. THANK YOU!
> 
> And enjoy! :)

Stiles wakes up with a warm, cozy feeling. It takes a couple of second for him to make sense of it, to accept the fact that waking up tangled with Lydia Martin is now the new normal. He smells her hair, whose touch against his face has tickled him into consciousness, before opening his eyes, finally. Rays of sunshine are dripping like golden fingers through the window blinds, making him feel a titillation that both excites him and wants to pull him back into his dreams. He feels so relaxed, so at ease, so happy… that he almost chokes when he looks down to an asleep Lydia almost drooling over his chest. She’s pouting in her sleep, grabbing at his t-shirt tightly as she curls around him like he is her pillow. He could die like this, quiet in this bed. He feels like it would be a more than decent send-off. He kisses Lydia’s head and decides to sleep in some more minutes. What’s the rush?

Well.

There’s a certain rush. Going down Stiles body. Lydia moves in her sleep, and even if he’s cool with that, a little friend of his is getting a little too happy about it. Stiles opens his eyes suddenly, beginning to feel the uncomfortable sensation grow. Hard. Uh, oh. _Lydia, for the love of God, stop grinding_. He needs to get out of that position before she wakes up, but she’s beating him to it.

“Mmmm… Stiles…” she mumbles. Is she talking in her dreams or is she awake now? He doesn’t want to find out until he’s put a safe distance between the two of them, so he starts moving away from her embrace as little Stiles begins to rise. Freaking biology. What he doesn’t count with is Lydia being a fighter; she suddenly tightens her hold on him and presses her body harder against him, her legs tangling around his legs, dangerously close to his crotch. He gulps, closes his eyes, waits for the worst. And then she feels it. Lydia’s body stiffens as she clearly regains consciousness and she frowns while she asks “Stiles?”

He jumps out of bed now that he knows he’s been caught. What’s the point? But Lydia is already awake, stretching and rising her head enough to look at him. What starts as honest confusion quickly turns into a knowing, slightly-embarrassed but clearly-delighted smile. She raises an eyebrow.

“Stiles… What are you doing?” She asks, knowing this is a cat-and-mouse game she’s already won.

“Ehr… Nothing! Nothing, nothing. I’m just…” he looks around, trying to find an excuse as to why he’d pull out of bed so suddenly, taking the sheets with him and covering his lower section. She looks down, so does he.

“Was that what I think–“

“I need to go to the bathroom!” He says as he leaves in a rush, dropping the sheets he’d taken midway and entering the attached room in a hurry, closing the door behind him. He’s so not ready to explain to her why he had a boner. He presses his back against the door and closes his eyes, cursing at his luck. He then hears her, on the other side, chuckling lightly before getting on her feet and leaving the bed. Stiles heart-rate rises as he hears her approach the bathroom, right until she places her head against the other side of the door. “Stiles?” She must be so fucking amused by this. Well, it’s not funny.

“Y-yeah! I’m here!” He tries to respond nonchalantly, but coming as a chicken about to be slaughtered.

She laughs once again before answering. “I’m going to make some breakfast, some toast or something I know I won’t burn. Do you want some?”

“Yeah, sure! Go ahead, I’ll come in a minute!” He responds. It’s like bearing a heavy rain of humiliation under a broken umbrella. He hasn’t even turned the shower on, something he should’ve done by now if he was doing something else than hiding. God.

“Of course you will.” She says in a lower voice as she keeps on laughing her way down the stairs. When things get quiet and he’s sure he’s safe, he lets out a deep breath. This was a disaster. A huge disaster. Now she's going to think that he can’t hold it together, that he keeps being that boyish preteen who couldn’t keep it in his pants. He looks down at his still-clearly-there erection and mutters sarcastically “Thank you very much! I thought we were a team…” He huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, realizing the stupidity of talking to his own dick. 

He needs to be down before Lydia starts making more questions, but the hardness isn’t going down. Why must this things happen to him? He turns and places his ear on the door, listening carefully. He can hear Lydia humming a floor below and the sound of the toaster as it spits their breakfast. He double-checks before making his decision. He needs to act fast. He rests his back against the bathroom door again and closes his eyes, taking a few breaths to relax. He then removes his t-shirt and places a hand over his chest, massaging the hair he finds there, and starts lowering it, whimpering as he caresses his stomach, his navel, his happy trail. He gulps when it reaches the waistband of his pajama pants, releasing a shaky breath as it disappears below his boxers…

 

“There you are! And here I thought the toilet had swallowed you.” Lydia is sitting by the counter wearing an oversized t-shirt that covers her as if it were a dress, ending mid thigh. With a pinch of horror he realizes it’s his; she must have gone back to his room while he was “showering” and put it on to be more comfortable around the house. Had she heard him? He hopes not, but he can’t be sure. Lydia notices his expression when he fails to answer and looks down, timidly sitting up when she realizes what he’s looking at.

“Oh, I slept all night in my clothes and I needed something more comfy. I went up to ask you but you were still… busy and I just saw it laying around. Sorry, I should’ve waited until you got out.” She shakes her head as she pats the t-shirt nervously.

“No! No, don’t worry! I’m not mad like… at all.” He tries to assure her. “Besides, it looks better on you.” It must be the shower or his alone-time aftermath because otherwise he wouldn’t have said that in a million years. She smiles sweetly at the compliment, thought, so he does too and doesn’t think too much about it before he quickly moves forward with the conversation. “Anyway, I’m sorry I was so slow. I really needed a shower and I guess my body took some time to wake up.” He lies as he laughs timidly and sits by his side, rubbing the palms of his hands together as he prepares to eat.

“Well, not all of it.” Lydia retorts. _What?_ He looks at her, panicked for a second, before he can try and disguise his expression and he swears he can see her smiling knowingly before she too pulls herself together. 

“Lydia–” He really didn’t want to have this conversation.

“Eat your toasts fast,” she interrupts “we need to be at Scott’s in half an hour.” And with that she sits up and leaves. “It’s my time to take a shower!” How does she do that? Say those things and then just… move on? She has to be a mastermind at this by now but, even so, he feels in such inferior conditions. Even when he acts smug he’s only waiting for her to look away so he can catch his breath. He suspects she knows it. He gives the thought one more minute before deciding to let it be and attacking his toasts.

 

It’s twenty minutes later and Stiles is waiting by the door. “Come on, Lydia! We’re going to be late!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” She descends the stairs quickly as he looks tenderly at her. She’s still wearing yesterday’s clothes but she’s styled her hair into a side-braid and he’s pretty sure he can smell her shampoo, even at a distance. She smiles like sweet vanilas. “Let’s go!”

He takes a couple of seconds to follow her to his car.

The ride to Scott’s house is nicely quiet, both of them letting the images of their past shared hours together fill in the gaps, the air caressing their faces as they drive pass residential areas filled with houses. He loves this, how they’ve managed to become so comfortable the one with the other that they don’t feel the pressure to cover the silence anymore. Was it Mia Wallace who said that that’s when you know you’ve found someone special? When you can just shut up and enjoy the silence? His thoughts are drifting when the car starts to slow down and comes to a stop. It’s only now that he realizes that he hasn’t been driving all along. When did he begin to trust anyone with his precious little Roscoe? _She's so fragile…_

“You ready?” Lydia asks as she stares into Scott’s front house. She then turns and looks him in the eye, concerned. “This isn’t going to be easy.” She advises.

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll be fine.” He smiles at her, reassuring, before motioning to exit the car. Preventing him from doing such thing, though, she grabs his arm. He turns again, a little startled, and sees that her concerned expression is still there. “What?”

“It’s just… I don’t want you to feel pressured to do anything, okay? We’re going to try and save Mason but that doesn’t mean that we’re going to put you in any risk again.” Her eyes are boring into his as she says this, trying to see if he’s really getting was she means. Whatever it is she sees in them she adds “You’re the number one priority to me.”

Those last words pull a string somewhere in his chest, for some reason. Maybe it’s years of feeling like a side-kick, a second choice, but there’s something just so great in knowing that you're first in someone’s list of worries. Especially if the person in question is a certain 5 foot 3 strawberry blonde. Be it as it may, he finds himself unable to look away, and she notices. She observes him as his eyes look into hers and down to her lips, a frozen moment of electric tension where he quickly licks his lips before he moves forward and kisses her in the cheek. It’s not what she’d expected a second before but she loves it. They way his soft, slightly moist mouth feels against her skin, hot but tender. The way he spends a second to long and how he retrieves so very slowly, until there’s enough space for him to look at her in the eyes, but not enough for her to be able to breathe. “And you’re mine.”

He then puts his hand on hers and helps her get out of the car, keeping her close as they go to Scott’s front door, ring the bell, and wait for his friend to open, ready to face together whatever there’s to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have noticed, there's a gap in time after we leave Stiles alone in Lydia's bathroom, right before he comes down to have breakfast with her.
> 
> As you may have also guessed, it's shameless smut, and I actually wrote that part, but I didn't add it in the end. I'd like to know if you'd like to read it. If you do, and you mention it in the comments below, I'll post an update between this chapter and the next so that you have something to read in case you get bored ;) Technically, It'll be another chapter, but it will only contain the link to Stiles 'happy time', which will be in a different work. All of this will be a part of the same 'series' (The 'Let Me Hold Your Hand' Series) and it'll be all linked together so that you can keep track of it in case I decide to do this again. This way, I give you the power to choose if you want things to get spicier SOONER, and if most people want to but you feel like it doesn't belong to the story, you can chose not to read it without skipping anything important, plot-wise.
> 
> So yeah! Let me now what you think, chapter wise and well... smut-wise. It's not the first time I write that kind of content but surely the first time I post it, so feedback would be great.
> 
> See you guys in the next one!


	10. 'Deleted Scene' #1: Stiles' Alone Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there!
> 
> So... as some of you know, at the end of last chapter, I asked you guys if you wanted to know what went down during Stiles time alone... and most of you (all of you who answered, actually, you little pervs...) said yes! So this is not actually the chapter, but a shotout / link to the separate work I've added to the -now- series of 'Let Me Hold Your Hand'.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it and wether you comment here or there, let me know what you think! It was prety, ahem... fun to write.

[If you've reached this part, we both know what you are looking for...](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6802036)

Enjoy... ;)

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to follow me on twitter/tumblr, I'm:  
> @ElRincondDomive  
> themovie-seriescrazyaddict.tumblr.com


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